


How Many Times (Must I Watch This Scene Play Out)

by vehlr



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-17
Updated: 2015-04-17
Packaged: 2018-03-23 10:29:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3764788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vehlr/pseuds/vehlr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Varric lives. Forever. And Cassandra dies. Again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How Many Times (Must I Watch This Scene Play Out)

They should not have even been out here, he thinks with a flash of anger as he screams out for a healer. She clings to him as her breaths become more desperate, pulling him down to hear her better.

“Var- _ah!_ Varric…”

“Stay with me, Seeker. You can hold on, just a little longer -”

Underneath his hands, the blood is thick, slick and hot and unending, and for all his encouragement he has seen enough death to know when it is near. He presses a kiss to her forehead. She coughs, the wet gurgle audibly painful.

“Please… I hurt – I cannot -”

“We’ve only just gotten started,” he whispers. “I can’t lose you again.”

“A-again?”

“We’ve done this dance before, Seeker. Except last time you weren’t nearly so violent.” His hands pull her closer, giving up on staunching the wounds. It would not be long now. “You were a handmaiden in Tevinter, running away from the Exalted March. Or was that the time before?”

“Not… time for… stories,” she gasps, fingers tightening around his arm.

“It’s not a story. I was there, I saw you. I loved you, and you died. Every time, you die and I’m too late.” He rests his head against hers. “I can’t do this again. Not now, not when you finally -”

“Love you,” she breathes, her eyes finding his. “Varric, I love you.”

“Cassandra -”

But she is gone, eyes dull in the dying light, and he can only whisper to the dead – the only audience he has left.

“- I love you. I love you, I _always_ love you. Don’t leave me again, _please_ …”

* * *

He does not remember the start, not anymore. All he knows is that nothing stops him – not fire, not arrows, not muscle, not steel. He lives, on and on, pulled through the ages by the very will of time.

And she always dies.

* * *

She is on the run, hand in hand with a gangling boy of a mage, and honestly the dwarf is terrified she might not make it through the night. But she is as strong as she has ever been, and when she flags down his cart he is careful not to let his eyes linger on her face.

“We need safe passage.”

“Where to?”

“Wherever you are going,” she insists, pressing coins into his palm. She is warm, despite her trembling, and he offers it right back.

“Keep your money. Wherever you need to go, just say the word. No place for children, now, not with this war.”

“Thank you, serah.” The boy scrambles into the back, and she stares up at their driver with narrow eyes.

“Think nothin’ of it,” he grunts.

“Call me Vivial,” she offers, before hauling herself up into the cart.

“Name’s Varric. Stay out of the crates.”

Of course, the names mean nothing – he would not know for another decade that the daughter of Andraste was the girl who took shelter in his caravan. She would not remember him beyond the sunset. He takes them to the coast, easily losing them in a busy crowd. She kisses his cheek as she slips away, and it haunts him for another lifetime.

* * *

Sometimes he is simply late, or unlucky, or – he rarely believes it but the thought sometimes sits on his shoulders accusingly – blessed to have missed her.

He knows the feel of her bones on the battlefield. He is intimately familiar with the smell of her blood on his hands. He has seen the light fade from her eyes too many times.

There is no end to it.

* * *

He is a Prince, beloved by his people and given far more leeway than his brother. His every wish is granted, his every thirst slaked with a gesture. He hates every second of this life.

She is a tribute, sent from the largest of the Chasind tribes. He doubts she even speaks a language he can understand. But he skirts around her with the greatest of respect, and she manages to grasp the concept that no, he was not about to take advantage of her as she had feared. He kisses her palm, smiling up at her, and she mirrors the expression as she brings her hand to her cheek and blushes up a storm.

“I love you,” he murmurs, and the slight frown of confusion that mars her brow makes him smile. “You didn’t know me, last time. You were a warrior and you died before I could find you.”

She reaches out, brushing the hair from his eyes. He says nothing more.

They come together in the night, soft skin and gentle whimpers and all the while her touch sears into his skin. He teases sounds from her like the finest of instruments, her symphony spurring his efforts as they fall into the sweetest rhythm. She cries out in her native tongue, and he swears to learn it, to tell her everything this time.

But fate remains unmoved, and the assassins come. She dies at the hands of his enemies, screaming for mercy. They pay tenfold.

* * *

He hardens, because there is no other way to get through each day. And then he meets a Champion, and the Seeker soon follows, and then there is nothing but the euphoria he has been constantly denied, just for a little while. A glimpse of the Golden City, before the blackened hands, bloodstained and feverish and he loses her -

* * *

The lines start to blur. He cannot remember the order, not any more. She is his past and his future, and it kills him when she is present.

* * *

She is a politician, another Pentaghast. He resolves to stay away this time, his heart still aching for the Seeker from long ago. And it is easy enough, he realises, despite her constant media coverage – he is just a freelancer, taking on fluff pieces to get by. At least, most of the time.

“Alright, Senator Pentaghast is holding a conference this morning regarding her stance on the gang wars in the Marches. Tethras, you’re on it.”

“What? No, no, I don’t do heavy-hitting politics, come on -”

“You’ll do it and you’ll have it on my desk before the end of the day,” warns his editor, channeling a touch of the Nightingale. He groans, reaching for his bag.

His head hurts, but he muscles his way through the rabble to the car’s front.

“Senator Pentaghast! Senator, could we get a quote on -”

A flash of metal, the soft click – he knows that sound, remembers it from last time around. He hated guns. He turns sharply, a muttered curse under his breath -

_**Bang.  
** _

The word explodes around him as his legs give way.

“Get her out of here!”

“No! This man -”

“Madame Pentaghast, please -”

And then she is there, his back against her as her hand finds his, gripping tightly. “Stay with me,” she murmurs, and he opens his eyes to find her face inches from his own. The pain is a lot sharper than he would have thought, his focus barely being held together, but he smiles up at her.

“Seeker…?”

“What – what does that mean?”

Her wide eyes betray the memory, and he shakes his head, cursing himself for being so foolish. “Nothin’. You got a speech to make, Senator. Go.”

“You saved my life. The speech can wait.”

“ _Damn_ , this hurts. I didn’t -” He stops abruptly, the blood draining from his face. “Shit, I’m cold. I’m… I’m _dying_.”

“The ambulance is almost here. The healers can -”

“I did it. I did it, I saved you.” The relief floods through his voice, his hand reaching up to cup her cheek. “I _saved_ you, after all this time.”

“What are you -”

For a moment, she remembers nothing. And then it comes in a wave – every life, every death, every instance of meeting this man – she remembers it all. She remembers making love in a foreign tongue, running away with another man, falling in love with a smartass whilst the world fell apart around them -

“Varric,” she breathes, eyes wide. “Maker, all those… all those _lives_ … you’re all of them.”

He chuckles weakly. “You remember just as I’m on death’s door. Typical, Seeker.”

“Seeker – she was the one at the Breach.” She swallows, still trying to comprehend it all. “The one in the Great Inquisition.”

“The one who loved me,” he murmurs.

“You… you idiot, I loved you every time.” She wipes away an angry tear, glaring at him. “ _Every_ time.”

He closes his eyes, taking in a shaky breath. “I saved you. And now I can -”

“Don’t you dare,” she hisses. “Don’t you _fucking_ dare.”

“It’s alright. Next time, we’ll get it right.” He pulls her down, pressing a kiss to her cheek awkwardly. “Next time.”

“No. No, please, I need -”

“Sshh, Seeker. S'alright. Next time…”

“Varric, please – please, no, _please_ -”

* * *

He opens his eyes, watching her scream out desperate pleas. Regarding his dead body for just a moment, he considers how unfair the whole damned situation was. He kneels next to her.

“Will I remember her?” he asks the hooded figure beyond.

PERHAPS ON THE PATH THAT LIES AHEAD. BUT YOU WILL NOT COME BACK TO THIS PLACE.

“But -”

THERE IS ONLY THIS ONE LAST MOMENT, Death intones. Varric’s fists are tight, hands reaching out to her -

“Varric!”

He stops, just short of her shoulder. The source of the voice lies beyond them, a friend from the newspaper. She was a sweet young thing, not meant for the sorrow decorating her face as she falls to her knees.

Cassandra does not look up. “Did… did you know him well?” Her voice is barely above a whisper, and Daisy can only nod as she takes the dead man’s hand.

“I was his intern. He – he made me feel at home here.”

“He was a good man.” The senator leans over, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “In every life, he was a good man.”

EXCUSE ME.

“I want to stay.” Varric looks up at the hooded figure. “I know you probably get that a lot, but… I’ve been here so long -”

RATHER A LONG TIME.

“Yeah.” He shrugs slightly. “Thought I’d ask.”

Death pulls an hourglass from his cloak – an intricate thing, sand flowing alternately through tubes that fed back into themselves. Varric stares at the device hard, finding his name engraved in a bold script. 

THERE ARE FEW EXCEPTIONS.

Death considers it for a moment.

I REALLY DID ENJOY _HARD IN HIGHTOWN_ , YOU KNOW. BUT THE STREET URCHIN DESERVED A HAPPIER ENDING.

Varric grins, folding his arms. “It’s been out of print for centuries, but… I think I could get away with a creative rewrite.”

OH, GOOD. 

Tapping it lightly with his scythe, the glass shatters for a fraction of a second -

* * *

_Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep._

The machines are hypnotic, in their way – sounds just on the edge of his hearing, sounds that remind him that he is _here_. He is alive. And really, despite it all, he is glad of that much. He takes a deep lungful of air -

\- and is rewarded with lancing pain.

“ _Shit_.”

“Varric?” Her hand is warm on his cheek, her face looming into view as she perches on the edge of the bed.

“Guess I’m not dead.” He makes to sit up, but groans at the effort, sliding back against the pillows. “Probably should be,” he clarifies.

“Shut up. You are _alive_ , and I would not have it any other way.”

He smiles up at her. “Hey, Seeker.”

“Not much of a Seeker these days,” she admits, free hand swiping tears away. “Everything I knew is  in disarray. Maker, Varric, how could you _bear_ it?”

“I’ve had a lot of time to come to terms with it all.” He pulls her hand to his lips, a soft kiss to her knuckles. “And a damned good reason to keep going.”

She squeezes his fingers. “What now? Will this just… start again?”

For a brief moment, the image of an hourglass appears in his mind – a complicated mess of glass tubes and bearing two names, and the sand running between each half with abandon, never quite full but never quite empty. He shrugs, closing his eyes. “Fuck knows,” he admits, “and right now I don’t care. I’m exhausted.”

“Almost dying will do that to you,” she points out.

Opening one eye a crack, he grins. “Smartass.”

“ _Someone_ has to be, and you’re too tired.” She smiles, a real genuine smile like he has not seen in lifetimes, and his heart sings.

“There she is. There’s my girl.” He raises his arm, inviting her into the bed, and she tucks herself into his side with ease. He presses a kiss to the top of her head. “I missed you.”

“Sorry it took so long,” she murmurs, hand finding his and squeezing tightly. “I will not stray again.”

And for once, Varric thinks with a swelling of his heart, she might be right.


End file.
